


Next Time, Dinner's Last

by ChocoChipBiscuit



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Humor, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3421433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/pseuds/ChocoChipBiscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cards, drinking, and arm-wrestling - all leading up to a very nice date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Next Time, Dinner's Last

“How did you get so good at cards?” Veronica asks, sighing as she slides over the last of her caps. Boone already lost his shirt—literally—and is quietly sulking in the kitchen with all the personality of your average potato.

Cass grins, neatly slapping cards into her palm. “I cheat.”

“Oh, _now_ you tell me!” Veronica throws her hands up in disgust, sending cards flying.

One flutters into Raul’s lap, making the ghoul look up from his copy of Dean’s Electronics. “Hey, _mija_. This isn’t fifty-two pickup.”

As Veronica mumbles an apology, Cass reaches across the table to squeeze her hand. The younger woman freezes—small hesitancy, breath still and heart suddenly thumping far too loud in her chest—but thaws at the warmth in Cass’ smile.

“It’s not an advantage if you know from the start.” Her thumb brushes over Veronica’s knuckles, thick pad over the sharp juts of bone. “But I can teach ya. See if you can spot it, next time.”

* * *

 

 

“How are you even still _standing_?” slurs Veronica, arm wrapped around Cass’ shoulders. Despite her best efforts to walk—or at least shuffle—in the right direction, her knees stubbornly refuse to cooperate, instead knocking into one another like… like… like knock-about things.

“Practice.”

And Veronica loves her dimples, the way they flash like stars and she could trace constellations through Cass’ freckles, mark out all kinds of beautiful shapes but nothing so sweet and warm as that smile and it makes her stomach bubble and her breath hitch and she thinks maybe it’s love rising to the tip of her tongue, but—

Cass maneuvers just in time to avoid Veronica heaving all over her boots, the foul remnants of too much whiskey and not enough Salisbury steak spattering into the gutter.

“I am _so_ sorry,” she says thickly, trying not to breathe too much through her nose but _ew_ she still tastes it in the back of her mouth.

Cass pats her back, gentle-like, just the lightest touch of fingertips and the flat of her palm and Veronica would be enjoying this so much more if she hadn’t just puked. “Shit happens. Here, rinse.”

Veronica rinses with the tepid bottle of water—at least it’s clean, not irradiated because working for the Courier means they got the caps to spare—using the smallest sip possible to gargle before spitting.

They reach the Lucky 38 without any further accidents, and Cass instructs Veronica to sleep on her side. The redhead then tucks herself behind the brunette, slotting her knees into the bend of Veronica’s leg and long fingers resting on Veronica’s hip. Veronica knows there’s not enough space for everyone to have their own bed, especially with the Courier back in town and Lily taking up so much room on her own and the fact nobody has the heart to kick Rex off…

But her heart still flutters as she feels Cass’ warm breath against the back of her neck.

 

* * *

 

Cass slams Boone’s hand to the table hard enough to rattle Veronica’s Nuka-Cola.

“And _that’s_ how it’s done, First Recon!” she crows, raising her fists in the air as Boone rises to his feet. The man gives a brief nod and a twitch of his lips that just might be a smile on someone who wasn’t emotionally constipated.

Veronica promptly hip-checks him and takes his chair. Ignoring the uncomfortably still-warm seat, she beams at Cass. “I spotted that, you know.”

“Spotted what?” Cass curls her lips, exposing a Cheshire-cat grin.

“Your—“ and Veronica raises her hand, wiggling her wrist in demonstration, “—thing. You’re strong, but that was _leverage_. He didn’t lock.”

“Not cheating.”

“No, _but_ I’m learning to watch, like you told me!” Veronica sets her elbow on the table, propping her other forearm behind it. “Come on. Let’s see how you do against someone who _doesn’t_ hide behind a scope.”

“Now girls, be nice to little Craig. He can’t help that he doesn’t like punching things,” Lily scolds, taking Boone by the elbow and steering him out of the room. “Now try on this Dinky the Dino costume I made for Halloween…”

Arcade’s shoulders quake in silent laughter and he immediately follows the elderly nightkin.

Wriggling her fingers, Veronica says, “Come on. Put them up.”

Cass presses her palm to Veronica’s, gripping tight. Veronica keeps her wrist firm and eyes on Cass’ face as the other woman drawls, “One, two, _three_ …”

Veronica bites her lip, forearm tense and struggling in this locked tableau. Her elbow bites into the table, a bead of sweat trickling down her ear. Her heart hammers in her ears, shoulders tight as she strains. But Cass remains cool, eyes relaxed and only the slightest of crinkles between her eyebrows to show her own effort.

Cass leans forward, puckering her lips together to give the tiniest peck on the tip of Veronica’s nose. Veronica squeals—

\--and Cass promptly pins her arm to the table.

“ _Cass!”_

“Hey, I won didn’t I?” Cass grins ear-to-ear, lifting her hand and leaning back in her chair with her hands behind her head, elbows jutting sideways.

“But that—that wasn’t—“ Veronica’s tangled tongue and fluttering heart can’t force out “ _it’s not fair_ ” because she still feels the weight of Cass’ kiss, heavy as heartache and radiating heat all the way to her toes.

“How about I make it up to you with dinner?”

 

* * *

 

Veronica pours herself into an elegant prewar dress that shimmers like stardust. Raul helps her pin her hair back (she had first asked Arcade, but the tall blond only made snide comments about stereotypes and how his “oversized mitts” disqualified him from both surgery and hairdressing) and she spritzes a dab of something powdery and floral at the base of her neck.

“You look good enough to eat. Makes me want to skip dinner,” Cass drawls from the doorway. She leans against the frame, thumbs looped in the pockets of the suit she must have gotten just for this occasion. Her hat remains though, familiar as an old friend, but it looks good. Cass makes it work, a touch of polish on cowgirl charm that leaves Veronica’s mouth so dry she can barely squeak.

“You look nice.”

“Couldn’t be a slob for you, now could I?” She steps beside Veronica, all gallant charm in the offered crook of her elbow.

Even in her high heeled shoes, Veronica stands no taller than Cass’ chin. Veronica fits herself against Cass with a fizz of happiness so fierce it tickles her nose, cheek against Cass’ bicep as if to ground herself, but it only makes her skin tingle as they ride the elevator down to the ground floor of the Lucky 38. The mechanical rumble masks the tremble in her voice as she asks, “So where’s dinner tonight?”

“Little place off the main Strip. Wanted somewhere nice without those creepy masked assholes.” Cass’ arm tenses, little more than a twitch against Veronica’s forearm. “I promise, if you don’t like it, I’ll eat my hat.”

“No, I like your hat,” Veronica objects, reaching up to trace a finger along the brim. The sudden image of Cass wearing that hat—and nothing else—flashes through her mind and she averts her gaze, blushing. Excellent timing, since the elevator doors chime open.

Veronica wriggles her fingers to wave at one of the Securitrons outside. Cass ignores the bot—she usually does, or at least pretends, not releasing her breath until they leave it behind.

“How much longer until you stop treating them like evil bogies?”

“Until the Courier wises up and quits trusting things that can think without a brain.”

“Plenty of folks with brains who just don’t use them.”

“Never said there weren’t.” Cass continues by ribbing on Boone, Arcade, the Courier—a thousand little jabs and jokes, nothing she wouldn’t (and hasn’t already) said to their faces, and even if Veronica’s heard all the mockery in its many minute variations, she laughs anew each time because it’s _Cass_.

Cass keeps her laughing all the way down the street, a right turn and past two of the smaller card-dens and a place specializing in mahjong and pai gow, before stopping outside a building with dark-tinted windows and a yellow-lit sign reading _Ray’s_. Practically staid by glittering New Vegas standards, but Cass opens the door to usher her in and Veronica steps into a world of dark-paneled wooden walls, pungent cigar-scent underlying everything like perfume.

“Very prewar,” she murmurs to Cass.

“Very.”

“Very masculine.”

“Very.”

“I feel like I ought to be wearing a dagger strapped to my thigh.”

“Oh? You got one?” Cass’ eyes glitter diamond-bright, dropping her hand to skim past Veronica’s hips over the sleek lines of her dress, but is interrupted by the hostess. Cass replies with the name and time for their reservations, and they are ushered to a small booth set with red flowers that Veronica recognizes as—

“ _Roses_? Where did you even _find_ them? I’ve only seen them in pictures!”

“I know people. You like ‘em?”

Veronica responds by burying her nose in them, breathing deep and trying to memorize the feel, the scent—roses are such a prewar icon, but she’d never known what they _felt_ like, petals soft but not nearly as smooth as she’d thought, with enough texture to tickle her cheek. They smell sweet and heavy, an edge of bitter green as she traces a thumb over the stem, fingers discovering tiny nubs and bumps from thorns that must have been recently trimmed.

She peeks up from her bouquet, seeing Cass leaning forward with her elbows on the table, hat still on but with a twist of her lip suggesting uncertainty—and responds without hesitation.

“Of course I love them, Cass!”

That whiskey grin returns. “Good.”

Their waiter brings menus and Veronica entertains herself by reading through the options as Cass—surprisingly—asks about the wine options.

“Any preferences? I know red’s the swank thing with meat, unless you…?” Cass’ voice trails, eyebrow cocked invitingly.

Veronica glances up from the menu, beaming brightly at the waiter. “I like the sweeter reds. Nothing too oaky.”

The waiter nods and departs, leaving Veronica to giggle at Cass.

“I was starting to think you didn’t drink anything besides whiskey.”

“I am a woman of hidden depths,” Cass responds in her best Arcade imitation, straightening as tall as she can while pushing imaginary glasses up the bridge of her nose.

Veronica dithers between a green leaf salad and the French onion soup until Cass suggests that _she’ll_ get the soup if Veronica orders the salad, and they can swap bites. Veronica agrees quickly, just in time for the waiter to return and make a big show of uncorking the wine and pouring a finger’s worth into a broad-bottomed wineglass. Cass plucks the stem and sniffs dramatically before tipping it back, rolling the wine around her mouth before nodding acceptance.

Now they’re ready to order, Veronica going first as Cass gestures to her. Cass follows with her own order and the waiter takes away the menus, replacing them with a small basket of crisp breadsticks and herbed butter.

“Oh wow. Never had this before,” Veronica says, covering her mouth with one hand to keep from spraying crumbs all over the table. “Tangy. What do you figure goes in this? Lemon, something green and tastes _really_ good…”

“Don’t know, but beats food from your hole in the ground, huh?”

Veronica jabs a breadstick at Cass. “Hey, I’ll have you know I make a _delicious_ boxed mac’n cheese.”

“Call me over when you figure out how to slather this butter on it,” Cass replies, parrying with her own breadstick.

The food’s too good to waste on fighting, so they eventually stop in favor of nibbling their way through the bread basket. The waiter returns with the soup and salad. The leaves are crisp and cool, lightly coated in some sort of tangy dressing and with berries scattered through for sweet-tart bursts of flavor. Cass offers her a spoonful of soup and Veronica leans across the table, conscious of the view down her cleavage but Cass’ gaze remains on hers. It’s delicious, though a little too rich for Veronica’s taste, but at least she got her sample.

The entrees arrive almost immediately after they finish their starters, causing Veronica to peer about in search of hidden cameras or spy-holes. But Cass digs into her cowboy steak with gusto, teasing, “C’mon, finish your food ‘afore it gets cold.”

The brahmin’s grilled a perfect medium rare and with even _more_ of that amazing butter. Veronica devours it with gusto, taking tiny sips of wine between bites to cleanse her palate. The wine is subtly sweet, with just a hint of tannic bite. She’s grateful for the generous flare of the dress over her belly as she finishes, pushing the plate away as she settles back with a happy groan.

“Saved room for dessert?”

“Don’t tease me,” Veronica begs.

“They’ve got this _really_ good toffee cake…” Her grin widens at Veronica’s distressed noises. “Tell you what. I’ll order it, you have a couple bites.”

‘A couple bites’ turns into ‘half the cake and most of the ice cream’ and Veronica leaning on Cass’ arm, the taller woman gallantly holding her roses as Veronica rubs her belly. Her waddling pace means the trip back to the Lucky 38 takes longer than the trip out, but _oh_ … she traces her tongue across her teeth.

“What’s that face for?” Cass asks, dipping her head so her hat’s brim brushes Veronica’s hair.

“Memorizing that food.”

She smells like wine and herbs and all of dinner’s savory notes as she squeezes Veronica’s shoulder. “Glad you enjoyed.”

Re-entering the casino and standing in the elevator for the ride back to the suite reminds Veronica how much her feet hurt. All that food weighs heavy in her belly, aggravated by the walking and her lovely shoes aren’t anywhere near sensible enough for extended trips.

Lost in her thoughts, Veronica doesn’t notice the shift in Cass’ posture, the way she bends at the knee and her breath hitches before placing dry lips against Veronica’s cheek.

Cass draws back at Veronica’s lack of reaction. “Sorry. Thought I—never mind. Sorry.”

“No, I—“ Veronica flushes, biting her lip to restrain a rush of babbling. “I like you. I liked this whole dinner and roses and—“ The roses’ powdered sweetness isn’t strong enough to cut through the old layered scents of dust and polish and faded opulence, but it helps remind her this was a _date_ , a real date, not just a dinner between friends because of some silly arm-wrestling and she’s _not_ in the Brotherhood anymore and procreation is _not_ her civic duty… “—I really like you. I just don’t think I’m ready for more than kissing and making out a little. Too stuffed.”

Cass’ tension eases in a long chuckle as she finally removes her hat. Tilting her head forward so her forehead bumps Veronica’s, she murmurs, “That’s fine. I was figuring that anyway. I prefer fucking first, eating later anyway.” Her grin stretches broad and salacious. “No ‘eating’ jokes intended.”

“Oh you jerk,” Veronica groans, just as the elevator chimes and the doors open to reveal Boone in all his glory. Including inglorious parts that Veronica wishes she _hadn’t_ seen, even as Cass lets out a low whistle of appreciation.

“Come back here, Craig! How will Grandma make your onesie fit?” Lily rumbles.

Boone (still wearing his hat and shades, by some bizarre twist of fate) dives into the elevator as the two women step out. By unspoken agreement, they lock themselves in the master bedroom. With the Courier gone on yet another mission of terrible judgment, they don’t have to worry about fighting the Courier and Rex for the best room.

Veronica kicks off her shoes. Habit means she places them in the closet, safely away from Rex, even if the dog’s not present. She reaches behind herself to start unzipping the dress, but pauses to look at Cass. It’s nothing the other woman hasn’t seen before, but… She steals a peek back, watching Cass peel herself out of the suit and fold her pants over the back of a chair. Cass keeps her white undershirt and panties though. Taking Cass’ cue, Veronica eases out of her dress and lets out a sigh of relief, rubbing her palms along the red chafe-marks where the fabric dug too deep.

“How are your feet?”

“Been better. Suffer for beauty and all that.” Veronica grabs an oversized T-shirt from the wardrobe, one of the many interchangeable that _could_ belong to Boone (who won’t object), Arcade (who won’t object too loudly), or Raul (who would certainly object, but she could bribe him with snacks). “The prewar ladies who wore those kinds of shoes must have been carried around everywhere.” Pulling the T-shirt over her head muffles Cass’ next words, so Veronica pops her head out and says, “Sorry? Say that again?”

“Want a footrub?” Cass repeats, sitting on the edge of the bed with ankles crossed, knees loose.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.” She smiles warm as sunshine. “But I want to, if you do.”

So Veronica allows Cass to fluff a pillow at the head of the bed and reclines, settling her feet into Cass’ lap. It feels a little strange at first—keenly aware that her feet are sweaty but running off to wash them would make it even more weird—but Cass is gentle, rubbing her thumbs along the bottoms of Veronica’s toes. Cass makes tiny circles over each toe, then to the balls of the feet. A little too hard at first, but she eases when Veronica hisses through her teeth.

“You’re sore, but there’s knots there too. Lot more than just walking around in pretty shoes for one night.”

“Well, you know how it is skipping around the Wasteland. Lot of time on your feet—but _ooh_ , that’s nice,” Veronica moans. An audible pop follows as Cass cracks a ball of tension.

“I can keep going,” Cass murmurs, “but it might hurt.”

“Just a little more then. It feels so relaxed after you get it, but—oh _guh!”_ Veronica winces, curling in on herself as Cass presses hard on the tendons along the inner side of the foot, but breathes hard through her mouth until Cass eases that tightness.

“You get any louder, they’re gonna think we’re having sex after all.”

Veronica laughs, leaning back and shutting her eyes. “Oh, _Cass_ , that feels so good,” she moans, breathy and pornographic. “Do that thing with your fingers again, oh— _oh no, not that_!” she squeals as Cass tickles the soles of her feet.

“Ready for the other foot then?”

“Oh please.” Veronica wriggles her toes for emphasis and Cass sets to work with gentle hands. Several more pops, tendons and aches releasing, and she finishes with soft strokes and rubbing along the crevices and crannies of Veronica’s feet. The brunette sighs contentment, murmuring, “Good thing we weren’t planning on sex anyway. I’m too relaxed.”

“Ooh, got it. Foot-rubs and dinner are _after_ I have my way with you from now on,” Cass teases, laying Veronica’s foot on the mattress and crawling up the bed. She dips her head to rub noses.

Veronica giggles, pushing back on her hands to sit up. Their noses bump, but she tilts her head to kiss Cass. Just a brush of lips, soft and warm with wine still on their breath, but she retreats with a flush when Cass opens her mouth for a hint of tongue. She covers her embarrassment with, “Who says _I_ won’t be having my way with _you_?”

Rolling to the side with her cheek propped on the palm of her hand, Cass drawls, “Bet you would just chew me up and spit me out, wouldn’t you?”

“Was there ever any doubt?”

But lying down and getting ready to sleep, Cass doesn’t come under the blankets until Veronica invites her by folding over the sheets. Cass doesn’t reach out to hold her until Veronica wriggles over, sliding herself into place as the little spoon once more.

And Veronica doesn’t fall asleep until she feels Cass’ breath stir the fine hairs on the back of her neck.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I love Veronica and Cass. I also firmly headcanon that Cass can beat just about everybody except Lily at arm-wrestling. And cards.


End file.
